Innocence
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Lúthien took possession of Tol Sirion, forcing the surrender of the Maia occupying it. That act had repercussions she did not know of, shaping the flow of history for Ages to come. Edited: 17th November, 2012.
1. Loosing

**Edit: 17-11-12. This story is the one that the rest seem to hang on, so I've done some editing on it, mainly in chapter two. I've also fixed some minor mistakes found in the other chapters.**

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><p>Morgoth was not going to be happy.<p>

Sauron rubbed his temples, deep in thought. Finrod was not meant to die, he was too valuable a prize. How was he suppose to explain this one? He could not even understand why an elven king would die for a mortal.

But he had, and left him with a mess. It wasn't that Beren was not a valuable prize; having the annoying son of Barahir finally in his grasp would please Morgoth. But compared with Finrod Felegund, King of Nargothrond, someone who would have information about the other elven realms, and most importantly his own? No, Morgoth would have been satisfied with Beren's death, but Finrod had been too valuable to kill. And he had already sent out Thuringwethil to inform Morgoth he had the elven king. She was due back any time.

Trying to figure a way out of this mess, he almost didn't notice when the first strains of song echoed through the tower. He stilled, listening. The song stopped, but then Beren was defiantly singing in answer, a song in praise of the Valacirca. That song too ended, but then another again rose, one of great beauty and power.

Sauron smiled. Lúthien could be the answer to this whole mess. The daughter of Melyanna would be a prize second only to that of her mother. If he could hand her over to Morgoth, it would be enough for him to forget that Sauron had lost Finrod.

"Draugluin!" he ordered sharply. The other Maia under his command bounded up the stairs, and ducked his head submissively.

"Yes, my lord?" he asked. His fur was standing on end, and Sauron knew he wished to be howling with the rest of his whelps.

"Send your wolves out to capture her," Sauron ordered. "But send them one at a time, the last thing I want is for them to kill her in their haste." He leaned forward, glaring at the Wolf. "And if that happens, I swear I shall be most displeased."

Draugluin whined his submission. "Yes, my lord," he promised swiftly. "I shall exercise the utmost care."

He left swiftly, and Sauron was left to wait. And wait. Finally, after too long, Sauron headed down the stairs of his tower, determined to find out just what had gone wrong this time. He halted in shock as Draugluin came in, obviously only inches from death.

"Huan is here!" he gasped, and then fell, dead. Sauron stared at the body of the other Maia, not truly seeing it, as his mind began to turn.

Huan. The wolfhound of Valinor, who had followed his master to these shores. Fated to live until he met the greatest of wolves. A cruel smirk crept on the fallen Maia's face as he began to shift, taking on the form of the greatest werewolf seen yet upon Arda. Then he softly crept to the door, hiding in the shadows.

He could see her, the beautiful half-Maia, at the end of the bridge, the dark shape of the wolfhound on the bridge itself, stained with the blood of the wolves he had already slain. He carefully gathered himself, then sprang. Surprised, Huan instinctively leapt aside.

Sauron ignored him for the moment, focusing on Lúthien. If he could just get her, then perhaps he could convince Huan to leave. And if not, he could get her inside the tower, deal with Huan, and come back for the prize.

But Lúthien was not helpless. Even as she stumbled from surprise and horror, she cast a fold of that dark cloak she was wearing against his face. Instantly, Sauron stumbled, a deep weariness coming over him.

Even as he stumbled, he felt a heavy weight drive into his side, knocking him off course. Huan had recovered, and was a formidable foe. Reluctantly turning from Lúthien, Sauron faced the larger threat.

That curséd hound was fast. Sauron had assumed a larger form, but the hound's agility made it a fair fight. Long was their battle, and howls and bays echoed loudly across the landscape. Both bled from numerous bite and scratch wounds. Sauron aimed a swipe full on Huan's flank, but the nimble hound leapt backwards just in time. Huan landed, coiled, and sprang for Sauron's briefly unprotected throat. He latched on, dragging Sauron's larger form down.

Sauron fought to escape, to injure Huan enough to win free, but to no avail. But the Maia was unprepared to simply surrender. Focused now on escape, not victory, he shifted form, to a monstrous serpent. He began to coil and lash, using the long muscled length of the snake's form to drag the wolfhound around. But still, Huan would not let go.

Desperate now, he tried one last risky gambit. He shifted back to the form he took most often, closest to Elves and Men. Sauron hoped that he could escape as his throat shrunk rapidly in size. But still that hound held firm, and Sauron reluctantly stilled: he was vulnerable in this form, if he struggled too much he could tear out his own throat.

He lay on his back, held aloft by the ivory spikes in his throat. The large blood vessels carrying blood from heart to brain pulsed just below the cruel daggers; one wrong move on either party's part would result in them being pierced, and Sauron knew that if that happened nothing would keep him from being stripped of this fána. The world slowed and sped at the same time, and for an eternity of a second, neither Maia or wolfhound moved except their heavy panting.

Then Lúthien moved closer, and Sauron stared at her, half defiant, half terrified that she would simply order the hound to bite down. He was all too aware of the helpless situation he was in. Huan had reinforced this with the position Sauron had been forced into: he was on his back, a submissive posture.

Lúthien's gaze bored into his, and he swallowed, feeling the muscles in his neck spasm against the teeth imbedded in them. He had no idea what she saw in his eyes, but she spoke.

"Surrender, or I shall order Huan to strip thee of thy raiment of flesh," she ordered. "And then thou shalt be sent back to thy fell master, and shall have the pleasure of trying to explain this loss to him. There everlasting thy naked self shall endure the torment of his scorn, pierced by his eyes, unless thou yield unto me the master of thy tower."

Sauron simply stared at her for a long moment. She had no idea what would await him, whether he did as she demanded or not. But surrendering would give him time to plan, prepare, and try to come up with a valid excuse for this whole mess. And if he didn't, they would simply take what they wanted from him anyway.

So, with wary defiance still lurking in his eyes, Sauron did what Lúthien demanded. For a long second he waited for Lúthien either order Huan to release him, or break her word and order the hound to destroy him. Then Lúthien nodded to the dog, and the spikes slid agonizingly out of his throat, and he fell towards the ground.

He instantly shifted to a form with wings: a vampire. He took flight before they could change their minds, and with blood streaming from his neck, he fled towards the distant forest.


	2. Repercussions

**Edited 17-11-12. Probably now rated M, but I'm not bumping up the story rating for one paragraph. **

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><p>He hadn't wanted to come. Morgoth was furious. He had been humiliated in his own hall, and had lost a Silmaril. Never mind that if he himself had fallen under Lúthien's power, Sauron had no chance against her. In Morgoth's mind, if Sauron had killed Beren, none of this would have happened. So Morgoth decided all the blame for this fiasco rested squarely on the shoulders of his lieutenant.<p>

Understandably, this made Sauron extremely nervous, and he wished he could be anywhere but here. But his Master had called, and Sauron could not ignore the summons.

Arriving before the throne, Sauron bowed deeply, remaining half hunched over, hoping against hope that his obvious display of fear and contrition might soften the punishment that was sure to follow_. _

"Look at me," Morgoth commanded, his voice a low, soft growl. Sauron mentally gulped. This was the most furious he had ever seen his fell master, and he had been there when Draugluin and Glaurung had displeased Morgoth enough to end up as his next 'projects'. This was not going to end well.

Slowly, he raised his head and eyes to the Vala in front of him. As soon as he did so, Morgoth's hand shot out, wrapping around his throat, fingers burying themselves into the scabbed over wounds that Huan had left, reopening them. Sauron was unable to stop himself from wincing in pain, but he did not cry out. Doing so would only encourage the Vala to hurt him worse to see what other reactions he could provoke.

"Do you know what has occurred here since you lost Tol Sirion?" Morgoth asked rhetorically. "I have lost a Silmaril to a elleth and a mortal. And then I find out that you had the mortal in your power and you–didn't–kill–him." On the last words he tightened his grip, leaving Sauron unable to fully reach the floor, almost hanging in Morgoth's grasp by his already damaged neck.

"So this entire humiliation can be laid at your feet," Morgoth continued. "And I am in no mood to forgive this failure."

With that, the full force of his will slammed into Sauron's mental defenses, effortlessly destroying them. Sauron's back arced, a psychic shriek escaping him as the Vala's fury tore through him.

Morgoth ripped into the young Maia's memories, taking the pleasant memories he cherished and destroyed or bound them, laying heavy blocks in his mind. He left alone Sauron's technical knowledge, as that was still useful to the Vala. Once the only memories that the Maia still retained were technical in nature, or ones he hated or regretted, Morgoth cruelly pushed deeper into Sauron's mind, tearing another mental scream from the Maia. The fallen Vala forced his way into the core of Sauron's very being, violating his mind and soul as Melkor's hatred and malice damaged the delicate parts of Sauron's fëa that created who the Maia truly was.

With the hand still gripping Sauron's throat, Morgoth threw him across the room into the wall. He lay crumpled at the base of it, glassy eyes seeing nothing, unable to even think after the brutality he'd been subjected to.

"Gothmog," Morgoth ordered. The Lord of the Balrogs moved forward and bowed, torn between fear of his master's wrath, and hope that he would finally get to take revenge against his hated rival.

"You may do what you will with him," Morgoth continued. Gothmog grinned, bowed again, and moved forward. Sauron was unable to resist as burning hands grabbed his upper arms, hauling him upright.

"Oh, and Gothmog," Morgoth continued. Gothmog paused, and looked back at the Lord of Angband. "Do what you will, but do not destroy the fána. Otherwise it will be you who faces my wrath next."

"Yes, my lord," the Balrog-lord said, bowing once more. Turning, he continued to drag the Maia who was responsible for him being stuck in this hideous form into the bowels of Angband. Only the orcs and the Noldorin slaves who sadly toiled here knew of the full horror that lay in the depths. He grinned. Revenge would be sweet.

Gothmog pulled the dazed Maia through Angband, until he reached the little used smaller chamber. Generally, the slaves were punished in one big room; seeing the evidence of what was in store for them, and hearing the screams of their fellows increased their fear wonderfully.

But this was _his_ revenge. He didn't want an audience.

Slowly, almost gently, he grasped Sauron's wrists, shackling them to the hanging chains in the center of the room. Then he used his claws to shred the other Maia's tunic, until Sauron was bare from the waist up. Again, with exaggerated gentleness, he pushed Sauron's long black hair over his shoulder, exposing his back.

"What do you want?" Sauron finally spat out, voice flat and emotionless, still fighting to recover from Morgoth's psychic assault. Gothmog grinned.

"From you?" he asked, voice almost a purr. "Nothing but your screams."

With that, he brought his fire whip hissing down on the other Maia's unprotected back. Sauron jerked, but otherwise didn't react. Gothmog hadn't expected anything else. Morgoth had nothing against hurting his followers for the smallest of infractions, or simply for his own pleasure. Sauron had escaped a good deal of it, simply because of how good he was at what he did, but he still knew how to hide his reactions. Morgoth's fascination for the pain of others made it a necessity for those who served him.

Undeterred, Gothmog continued until finally a small, explosive gasp tore from Sauron's lips. Instantly he stopped, and setting down the fire whip, moved in to take the other Maia in his arms. He pulled in, feeling damaged flesh against his own.

"What was that I heard?" he asked rhetorically. "Am I finally breaking through that vaunted composure of yours?"

Keeping one arm snaked around the Maia's chest, Gothmog moved to grip to Sauron's upper left arm. Then, in one fluid move, he snapped it. Sauron's back arched, and he finally screamed, the pain of the broken arm adding to the pain of his back. Gothmog chuckled; a dark, pleased sound.

"There," he murmured to the gasping Maia in his arms. "That's all I want. Not so hard, is it?" Gothmog stroked the dark hair, then tangled his fingers in it, pulling back the smaller Maia's head, giving him a light kiss.

"Now then," Gothmog continued, letting go. "I've been rather neglectful, haven't I? Here I've only been paying attention to your back." With that he removed boots and trousers, leaving Sauron hanging naked in chains.

"Much better," Gothmog muttered, as he swung the fire whip again. He continued mercilessly, as Sauron's screams echoed in the small chamber. When the screams began to quiet, as the pain completely overloaded the Maia's system, he finally stopped. But it was only to take the other Maia in his arms again.

"No, no, you can't stop now," he said. "I'm enjoying this so much, you see. I've waited for such a long time for you to slip up, make a mistake, and let me take my revenge." Gothmog grinned, and shifted his grip to Sauron's right thigh. Then, using his knee as leverage, snapped the femur. Sauron's anguished scream echoed around the chamber, and Gothmog did nothing for a moment, savoring his enemy's pain.

With an evil grin, Gothmog reached up and grasped Sauron's right forearm.

"Do you want me to snap this one too?" he asked the barely conscious Maia. "Leave you helpless? You already cannot walk, do you want to be unable to use your arms as well?" The dark haired Maia frantically shook his head. Gothmog's grin widened.

"Then beg," he whispered.

"Please," rasped Sauron, voice nearly gone. "Please, no."

"Hmm," grinned Gothmog, enjoying the humiliation he was inflicting on the other Maia. "Not quite good enough." He increased pressure on Sauron's arm.

"Please," Sauron whispered hoarsely. "Please don't. Please."

With a truly evil grin that Sauron couldn't see, Gothmog released his arm. Sauron slumped in relief. Then with a quick move, Gothmog moved to his other forearm, and snapped it. Again, an anguished scream echoed in the small chamber.

"There," Gothmog whispered. "You still have one working arm." Sauron couldn't hear him, the pain had finally sent him into the release of unconsciousness. Gothmog frowned, thoughtfully. He could rouse the other Maia and continue, but he was mindful of his orders. He sighed. The last few hours had been delightful, but he knew that he would receive the same treatment if he disobeyed. Regretfully, he unchained the unresponsive Maia, and dragged him away.

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><p>He was lying on a cold stone floor. He only knew it because he was shivering. The pain was too intense to take notice of any of his surroundings. He whimpered in pain and winced, his throat raw from screaming. He didn't think he was bleeding anywhere but his neck, but that was only because the fire whips cauterized the wounds they left.<p>

He didn't want to think about that. He tried to push the memory away, but was unable too, his mind still in turmoil from what Morgoth had done to him. Distracted as he was, trying to create order out of the chaos that was his mind and body, he jumped when someone ran a finger down his still bleeding throat. He screamed despite himself as that movement re-woke the agony that devoured what had once been a nicely working fána. The scream hurt too, his throat hurting more than the rest of his physical form, if that were even possible.

Once the pain had died down slightly, he opened glazed golden eyes to peer at the world around him, wanting to know who was with him. A pure, holy light met his unfocused gaze. He promptly shut his eyes again. Not who he wanted to see. Even Gothmog would have been better. And after what he had done to him, that was saying something.

"Ah, Mairon," Morgoth's voice was smooth and gentle. "Why do you make me do this?"

Sauron didn't answer, unable to speak with his damaged throat.

"It's your fault you know," Morgoth continued, pouring poison into the already shattered thoughts of the Maia. "If you would simply be better, I wouldn't have to do this. I'm doing it for your own good. You need to be punished for your mistakes, or you'll never learn from them. I'm doing it because I want you to be better than you are now. You have wonderful potential. But you can't start making mistakes."

Morgoth gently ran his hand down the broken body of the helpless Maia before him. Sauron shuddered, incapable of hiding his reactions like he normally did. Morgoth gripped Sauron's upper arm, tightening his grasp to painful levels. The arm was broken, Sauron remembered with an odd floating detachment.

"Disincarnate," Morgoth growled. "Disincarnate and get out."

On his fourth try, Sauron was able to do just that, not realizing as he fled Angband that his once steady golden aura was now mostly black with red and orange fragments, shattered and distorted.


	3. Consequences

Sauron held himself with just the right mixture of pride and humility as he walked through the camp of his enemies. He ignored the stares from all sides. He was only here to speak to Eönwë.

He would have to beg. It left a sour taste in his mouth. Memories of the last time he had begged rose in his mind: an overwhelming pain, a mocking voice in his ear. Firmly he pushed those memories into the deepest recesses of his subconscious.

He ignored the wide eyes and instinctive clenching of sword hilts as he moved through the encampment. None of them were stupid enough to engage him, for though few had seen him, many could guess his identity. He kept looking, though for the one who could pardon him.

He was hoping to convince Eönwë of his repentance. He truly wasn't faking it, he had long regretted his service to Morgoth. Now if only he could convince his former friend of that. All he wanted now was to be free, to have no master. No one to control him, no one to hurt him. No longer a slave.

Ah, there was Eönwë! Sauron moved in closer, and watched as the herald's eyes widened almost imperceptibly at his approach. Then those amber eyes grew wary, and Eönwë's hand crept towards the hilt of his sword. Quickly, Sauron knelt.

He waited. He needed Eönwë to speak first; he needed to know what the other Maia's reaction to him would be.

"What are you doing here, Sauron?" Sauron internally winced. He hated that name. Still, Eönwë's tone: wary, but with a hint of curiosity, gave him hope that he could succeed.

"Eönwë," Sauron began, "I have come to beg forgiveness for what I have done. Long I have regretted my choice to serve Morgoth, but had no way of escaping his service. Now that he has been thrust out beyond the Doors of Night, I wish to finally be free of him. If you will pardon me, I shall work to repair the damage that has been caused in these lands. Long have my talents been turned to Darkness, I now wish to use them for good." He stopped, unsure of what to say next. It was all true, he wished simply to be free, to never be hurt again.

The silence dragged on, uncomfortably. Sauron swallowed. He hated begging, but waiting to know if it had been granted was worse.

"Oh, get up," Eönwë finally snapped. "I want to see more than simply the top of your head." Sauron obeyed, and for a long moment, the herald of Manwë and the lieutenant of Morgoth simply stared at each other.

"I truly regret it," Sauron said softly, finally breaking the silence. Eönwë took a step closer.

"I want to believe you," he said, just as softly. "But I do not have the authority to pardon you," he said in a louder voice. "If you wish to be pardoned, you must return to Aman, to receive justice from the Valar." He stepped closer, so none others could overhear.

"Please come back," he whispered softly. Sauron made no answer. Eönwë sighed, and stepped back.

"You may have the freedom to move about the camp at will, if you will give me your word that you will seek no harm to those in it, either directly or by what you shall learn."

Sauron, who had been staring at the ground off to the side, glanced up and met Eönwë's gaze. He gave a brief nod.

"You have it," he said softly. Eönwë took this for an encouraging sign, and with a nod of his own, moved off to continue his many duties. Seeing the spectacle was over, the small crowd of elves which had gathered dispersed as well. Sauron was left, thinking.

Even if the Valar were inclined to be merciful, what could he look to but a long servitude? He would be closely watched, with never a moments freedom. It would be intolerable. He could not stand to be enslaved again.

But mercy was not the word Eönwë had used. Justice. It was a word that scared him even more. For he was truly fallen now, beyond redemption. They would throw him to the Void, just like the master he had so foolishly chosen to follow. And justice could only follow a trial.

A trial, where the Valar would rip him apart, looking for everything he'd done, and why he had done it. He could not endure such a thing again. It would destroy him.

Sauron raised a hand to his throat. This it was his fault. If he had been stronger, made fewer mistakes, this never would have happened. If only he had never listened to Melkor, or better yet, never left the Timeless Halls.

But he had. And now, he was nothing but a broken slave. No matter what he did, he was doomed. He bowed his head, as the last little shreds of hope and innocence, that he had been desperately clinging to, died. He had nothing left now, just broken dreams and a shattered life. Nothing but ashes.

And so, he began to move. Slowly, so as to not attract attention, he wandered to the edge of camp, and beyond. And when he was far enough away that none would hear him, he ran.

True to his nature, he fled, trying to outrun the pain.

_When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë._

_Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid on him were very strong. _

-The Silmarillion


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